


Queen of Diamonds

by Rrrowr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Clairestiel: Cas as Claire Novak, Community: blindfold_spn, F/M, Light BDSM, Soulless Sam Winchester, erotic asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rrrowr/pseuds/Rrrowr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't you draw the queen of diamonds boy<br/>She'll beat you if she's able</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Diamonds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for . Prompt: _RoboSam/Clairestiel - Always-in-Claire!Castiel; and Castiel always tops. If she doesn't call Sam "boy" at least once, you're doing it wrong._  
>  Originally posted: [here](http://blindfold-spn.livejournal.com/7359.html?thread=8919487#t8919487)

When Sam looks at Castiel, sometimes it's hard to imagine that he saw her slow, spiralling Fall from grace a couple years ago -- that he remembers Lucifer snapping his fingers and wiping her from existence. It not like he feels bad about seeing those things, but considering how powerful she seems now, it seems at odds with the memory of her weakness. Castiel certainly does everything she can to ensure that Sam only sees strength now.

He likes the dichotomy inherent in her existence. Castiel's vessel, Claire, ages naturally like any other human -- doesn't, apparently, get any immortal benefit from being commanded by an angel for all that she could walk out of a nuclear blast without a scratch -- and has grown a lot in three years. Even so, she's slender with youth and her face is cherubic with the baby fat that lingers in her cheeks. Claire is maybe fifteen, sixteen years by the look of her and keeps her hair long and blonde. 

When Sam looks at her, he can see the scared kid that must be under all of Castiel's rigid control, but for the most part, he doesn't care about Claire. Claire isn't interesting on her own -- youth means that people, even strangers, worry about her when she seems lost or frightened, and that would mean trouble for Sam. He's not interested in trouble, especially when he's not looking for it himself.

But Castiel is interesting. She looks like Claire alright -- all soft and creamy and tiny, barely coming up to Sam's shoulder -- but at her full strength, she's altogether different. Sterner, Sam thinks. Wilder. Sam can feel it when Castiel's gaze slides over to him. For all that he could probably break Claire's neck with hardly any effort, it's only with Castiel that Sam feels the threat that makes him want to high-tail it out of the state. 

There's no obvious vulnerability to her. She presses into Sam's personal space as if she owns it, and when she pushes him down to the bed, it's with the self-possessed propriety that lets him know that she thinks she owns him too. It should grate on his nerves. He should find it demeaning that Castiel is in charge every time they come together as tiny and fragile as she looks, but the sheer presence that she wears around her shoulders pushes at his senses until fear crawls along his nerves and forces him to bare his throat in submission. It never feels wrong, though, and he always comes out of it alive -- worn out, of course, and his body still singing from the thrill of having her -- so he figures it's probably better not to quit a good thing while he's got it.

Sam's tried resisting her before -- just the first time. He wanted to see if he could. He let her push him to the bed and let her straddle him. Her little body was forced to spread _so far_ to get her knees on either side of him, ruining all leverage she had, and Sam pushed that advantage, tried to roll them so that he could cover her and pound into Castiel like she seemed to want. Cas took the shift in weight with just the lift of her brow, catching the rise of his shoulder in one hand and shoving him back into place. Castiel held him down and spent the rest of the night with her hand spanning the thick girth of his throat as she sank around him and rode him. 

When she climbs over him this time, Sam is reminded of that first time. Her hair is in disarray, wind-blown and frazzled, and she's breathing hard even though he's barely touched her. She's _wild_. Sam can see the play of emotions across Castiel's face. They're not overt -- just flicks of her gaze this way and that, a part of her lips, the slight twist of her brow as she pushes Sam's jeans and underwear down to his knees. It might not seem like much on a human, but on Castiel, it's basically a neon sign, pointing out her weaknesses when there should be none. 

Maybe tonight will be different. 

The hem of her skirt rises as her hands search for the waist of her underwear and yank them down. Sam grunts. He can smell how wet she is, and as he touches her thighs, squeezing behind them and up under her clothes, her skin warms under his touch. If anything, she seems to get wetter.

"Like me, after all, huh, Cas?" he says, completely unable to keep the smug grin off his face. He doesn't even feel a little like trying to hide it -- not when Castiel's brows are screwing together with concern as she holds his dick steady and surrounds him with the wet heat of her cunt. "S'that why you keep coming back?"

Castiel shifts atop his lap and frowns down at him. Sam's smile broadens as he cups her ass, drawing her down firmly just to see if her stoic expression would fracture further. Castiel sneers.

Sam pushes up on his elbows. He lays his hands over her knees, subtly edging them further apart. "I can make it better for you, Cas," he promises, wondering if it was really the physical release that she got off on or if it was something else.

It's only when he braces one of his feet and starts to turn them over that Castiel puts her hand across his throat and leans in, pressing him back down with her suddenly ferocious presence. "I'm not interested in better, boy," she says. Her fingers squeeze around his neck until his pulse starts to pound threateningly in his ears. "The only thing I want from you tonight is your obedience, but I don't require it." 

This is what Sam likes about fucking Castiel. He can push with her in ways that he can't do with other women. For all that they're older than Claire, those women give themselves over like slaves. Sam can work them like fine instruments, giving them one night of rough and utterly fantastic sex, and send them back in the morning -- or that night or immediately, whenever -- with an ache that only he'll be able to satisfy. 

Sam thinks it's pretty awesome he can do that, but sex with Castiel is better because it's Sam who's left with the ache. Even though it doesn't feel great having that feeling for an extended period of time, Sam likes knowing that he can feel it at all. So much of what he expresses these days is forced and exhausting. At least with Castiel, there's no pretending that everything's alright in Sam's head or that he's not missing something he used to have. He can be as base and crass as he wants to be, and Castiel will still ride him until they both come. 

He doesn't even really have to obey -- he's pretty sure she could hold him down and wring the orgasm out of him with some sharp twisting of those bitty hips whether he liked it or not. The orgasms are vastly improved by his cooperation, however, and Sam is really, _really_ not the type to turn down an orgasm, no matter the scenario surrounding it.

Castiel tucks her feet against his thighs and rocks above him. It's not enough friction to get him off by a long shot, but he licks his lips, feeling the sticky wetness of her arousal leaking around him. He wants to taste her, but knows that she won't let him. 

Sam tries for the next best thing by reaching for her. She has to keep one hand on his throat, but that means she can only pin one of his hands. The other, Sam slides around her hip to her pretty ass, hoping that he can lift her up and add some real bounce to this scene, but Castiel's knees just clamp around his waist. No matter how much leverage he gets -- no matter how much he thrashes under her and tries to make her pull a little further off his cock so he can slam into her as hard as he can, Castiel rides him without giving an inch. 

Even in this vessel, Castiel is so much stronger than him. He can buck and struggle all he wants with her, but she's not going to move until she wants to. When the fight finally gives out of him, Sam sags against the bed, more desperate to come than before, and his head tips back against the pillows, exposing the long line of his throat in his final surrender. 

At last, Castiel smiles. Her thumb presses gently against the pulse in his wrist. "Good boy," she murmurs. "Stay just as you are."

She moves in earnest now in these agonizingly tight circles. Sam can feel the hard little nub between her legs rubbing against him and wants to reach for it -- wants to tease it with his fingers and stroke it until she comes. Castiel does it for him in the next second anyway, as if she read his mind. She keeps one hand on his neck, flexing her fingers under his Adam's apple, and slides her hand under her skirt to touch herself.

This too is another thing that Sam likes about fucking Castiel. She doesn't have the little restraints that some other women have. Castiel's all about the open-mouthed panting, the throaty moans, and the gasps as she seeks out her release. Not that Sam thinks that there's anything wrong with women having to bite their lips and muffle their own sounds when they're with him, but he likes _hearing_ them. It's gratifying -- more so with an angel. 

Castiel's hand snaps out and catches his wrist again, dragging his hand along her thigh and then to her ass. She barely gets to order him -- "both hands" -- before Sam's digging his fingers into her soft flesh. He hopes that he'll leave bruises, but doubts he even can. Sam squeezes her and sneaks his fingers into the dark furrow between Castiel's cheeks as her fingers return to her clit. 

"Come on," he urges her. "Come on, Cas, please." She moans and hisses, jerking in his grasp and pulsing tightly around him. "Wanna see you come, baby. Wanna feel you squeeze around my dick."

She sucks in a harsh gasp and comes with a cry, fingers tightening so hard at the base of his throat that Sam's barrage of dirty talk strangles. Castiel very nearly falls forward as her hips helplessly twitch, and she braces herself on his chest while she breathes deeply through her nose. 

It doesn't take long for her to recover -- just a few lazy blinks and she's back to staring down at him from her usual vantage point -- but Sam's even more ready to come than he was a few minutes ago, now that he's had her sweet little body clamping down around him to the rapid beat of her heart. Even though he's had the fight wrung out of him, he's tempted to try again -- like he'll have any more of a chance at winning when she's fresh off an orgasm than when she's seeking one out.

"One day, boy, we'll put that mouth of yours to better use than talk." Her smile is lazy, and she cocks her head to the side as she looks at him. "Sam," she says, "do you trust me?"

He doesn't hesitate to answer. "No."

"Interesting," Castiel replies and slips both of her hands around his neck. "Please try not to panic, then."

Sam gets a split-second of confusion before her hands tighten securely under his Adam's apple. He can feel his pulse pounding hard in his neck under her fingers, and he grabs her wrists, trying to yank himself free. Just as before, she doesn't give an inch; she merely reminds him not to panic and relaxes her fingers for a few seconds before resuming her previous grip. 

He bucks urgently under her, feeling dizzy as her hold continues to relax and tighten rhythmically over him. His fingertips go numb and his eyes roll as his kicking legs slowly lose their energy. He chokes out her name as a final plea, certain that she's decided that he's too much trouble to keep around, and suddenly, all the pressure is gone and she's scraping her nails down his chest. 

Sam jerks, filled with the fierce euphoria of having survived, and Castiel lifts up on her knees before dropping back around him. She works him over with her sopping wet cunt like it's her job to get him off, and this time when he tries to roll her over, she lets him. He covers her and buries his face into the tangle of her hair, breathing in the sharp ozone scent of her as he comes with a roar.

"That's it, boy," she says soothingly while he gasps for breath and wraps an arm around her waist. "Easy now."

He... He feels... He feels good, he guesses. Exhausted definitely, though he doesn't want sleep. As always, nothing wears him out better than Castiel does. He wants to thank her for being so damn interesting by screwing into her until she comes again, but fuck if he can't push his body past a near death experience.

Whatever -- Castiel seems to understand. She cards her fingers through his hair and turning his face toward her. She doesn't kiss him exactly. She moves her mouth close as if she's considering it and lingers for so long that Sam thinks about closing the distance for her if she's gonna be a tease about it. Ultimately, she just pushes him off her with a sly smile and straightens out her clothes as she stands.

It's a bit annoying that Castiel cleans herself up without a thought. Sapped of his energy and left to watch as she brushes her skirt flat across her thighs, Sam wonders if, one of these days, he'll be the one to leave Castiel in bed instead of the other way around. He scoots closer as she finger-combs her hair back into a clip and slides a hand under her skirt to cup between her legs.

Sam's fingers twitch in surprise as they cross from the dry skin of her inner thighs to her sex. He glances up at her. "You forgot your underwear."

The way Castiel's mouth twitches tells him that she thinks he's being particularly amusing. She draws his hand out from under her skirt and leans over him, petting her knuckles against his pulse. "No," she says. "I haven't."

Castiel leaves him behind with a nod and the quiet rustle of her wings. The next morning, he finds her underwear folded in his coat pocket -- perfectly clean as if they'd never been worn but smelling deeply of ozone.


End file.
